


Getting Filled with Christmas Spirit

by sunbitten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Masturbation, New Years, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbitten/pseuds/sunbitten
Summary: They’re trying Christmas again. They have the bunker, a little extra cash, and are currently emergency and disaster phase free. It only seems fitting to give it another go.





	1. Chapter 1

They’re trying Christmas again. They have the bunker, a little extra cash, and are currently emergency and disaster phase free. It only seems fitting to give it another go.

They decorate the bunker the best they can. And it turns out… a little sad, Sam thinks. But it’s fine, they’ve done the best they can as two grown men who don’t know how to, nor really care for, decorating.

Dean places a mini one foot plastic tree in the middle of the table in the war room, and Sam decorates it with small, non-cursed trinkets from around the bunker— _I’m not going out to buy you mini ornaments, Sam_. They wrap lights around the banister of the stairs, but they remain unlit. The cord’s too short to reach any outlets, and they aren’t willing to unplug the already in use extension cords. They try to wrap tinsel around the telescope, but Dean gives up in two minutes and tells Sam he’s tall enough to do it by himself. Sam lasts about ten minutes longer before giving up and just throws the wad of tinsel on top of it, letting it cascade down freely. Half falls on the floor and remains there—at least the floor’s decorated.

The decorations are all rounded out by a whimsical plate of cookies and Sam’s famous eggnog—which for some reason Dean refuses to touch—by the tree. Sam thinks it’s a cute touch, isn’t even bothered by the non-traditional fact that the cookies aren’t homemade. Despite Dean’s hidden talent and not so secret enjoyment for cooking—and his vast love for pie—he has no interest in baking. So, Sam picks up a box of gingerbread men and some chocolate chip cookies from the bakery section and, practically raised on it, thinks they’re just as good.

Even though he knows that suburban housewives would take one look and be utterly appalled and pity their attempt, Sam thinks they’ve done well. It might even be the best Winchester style Christmas yet.

Part of Sam knows that what's really going to set this year apart is that he actually has some money to buy Dean a gift, like almost as good as the amulet kind of gift. It’s such a good gift that Sam can hardly wait for Christmas.

* * *

Christmas morning finally arrives and Sam feels like how a five year old should on Christmas. He wakes up earlier than Dean and sits at the war room table waiting for him.

“Someone’s excited.” Dean comes in yawning and looking warm all wrapped up in his dead guy robe.

And Sam is, he’s so excited that his hands are lightning bolt quick reaching under his seat. He practically shoves the present onto Dean, making him fall back into a chair.

“I got you a gift.”

Dean chuckles, “I can see that. Should I open it now?”

Sam knows he’s teasing, so he throws him what Dean has deemed his bitch face. It only lasts a second though as Dean begins removing tissue paper from the gift bag. Once all the paper has been removed, Dean pauses and just stares into the bag.

“Sammy…” Dean reaches in and pulls out soft, supple leather, light brown with a couple grey cracks mapping out how well loved it’s been.

“Is this—” Dean unfolds it, revealing a brown leather jacket. “It’s Dad’s jacket.”  

Sam watches his brother try it on and nostalgia warms his heart. He remembers Dean looking like this when he was still the snot-nosed little brother in high school, when Dean picked him up from Stanford, and right before jumping into the cage. Basically his whole life if he tried to picture Dean, it was with that jacket. He had been so shocked when he got his soul back and found Dean no longer wearing it. It was put into a storage locker of Lisa’s and there was no way of getting it back.

“It’s not Dad’s, but I saw it in the window of that vintage store in town and thought it looked similar enough. Thought you might like it.”

Dean looks up from his inspection of the jacket, eyes so wide and filled with awe. “I love it, Sammy.” He walks over and ruffles Sam’s hair. “One of the best presents ever.”

Dean’s smiling down at him with one of the most radiant smiles Sam has ever seen on him. It makes Sam’s heart beat a little faster, and he swears Dean’s happiness is infectious because he’s just as happy as Dean seems to be.

Sam almost protests when Dean takes it off and folds it up to be put back in the bag, but he’s being told to wait here as Dean quickly exits the room. In his excitement, he kind of forgets Dean probably has a present for him too. It’s not until he’s being lobbed a prism that’s wrapped in shiny paper with a thousand little penguins on it that he remembers.

“God, after such a nice present, Sammy, I feel like such an asshole giving you this.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it, Dean.”

“Wait till you open it, then we’ll talk,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Sam ignores him. It’s not like he’s greedy for gifts and expecting something extravagant; Dean could, and actually has, give him something so mundane such as shaving cream and he’d appreciate it. He rips a penguins face in half and tears back the paper, revealing a nondescript white box. He’s not really sure what it could be. Maybe a knife? He’s been in need of a new one after his own got bent during a hunt. He pulls the box from the paper, opens up one end, and peeks inside.

Sam’s not really sure what he’s looking at. It seems to be some sort of stick. He slides it out of the box, and it becomes clear.

It’s a dildo. A fucking Christmas themed dildo.

It’s not overly dick shaped, more a slightly curved rod with a rounded off, somewhat bulbous top that gets thicker at the end to make a base, which to Sam’s horror, has a suction cup attached to the bottom. It’s not too big, maybe five or six inches at most. But the worst part is that it’s bright Christmas red with iridescent flecks of silver in the shape of tiny snowflakes.

“You got me a dildo,” Sam deadpans, and Dean’s already laughing.

He’s already packing it away when Dean finally manages to get some words out between chuckles. “Aww, come on, Sam. I didn’t know we were doing actual sentimental gifts this year.”

Sam understands; they don’t really have guidelines for exchanging gifts, but he just really wishes Dean would stop laughing—it stopped being funny, if it even was at all.

“Plus, I thought it was a good gift with, you know, with you never having sex and being such a girl.” Dean’s guffaws start anew.

“Haha, Dean,” Sam says sarcastically. “You’ve actually managed to outdo yourself for worst gift when you gave me that Barbie and baton.”

Dean’s starting to tear up. “Oh my god, your presents knew you were a girl then and that you’re a girl now.”

Alright, Sam’s had enough now. “Well, at least I didn’t have to go to a sex shop and buy a dildo.”

Dean’s laughing finally peters out. “Dude, online shopping exists now.”

Sam needs a rebuttal and quick. “Well, now you have them in your order history.”

Dean shrugs. “Amazon doesn’t judge.”

Sam has no reply. Dammit, he’s lost this one. He turns to take his punishment, ready for more teasing, but Dean’s throwing him another present.

It’s another box wrapped in the same penguin paper, and Sam eyes it wearily. What other sex toy or emasculating thing could Dean have gotten him?

Dean must see his reluctance to open it because he says, “Chill, Sammy. The dildo was a joke. This is your real present.”

Sam still peels back the paper cautiously. He eagerly rips the rest of it to shreds when he sees the title of a tome the Men of Letters had referenced in a collection that Sam had really wanted to read but was sadly disappointed to hear that the last copy had been destroyed. Sam looks up and matches the smile on Dean’s face.

“Dean, where did you get this?”

Dean just fondly shakes his head. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

They trade another warm smile before Dean gets up and makes his way to the kitchen. “Ok, now how ‘bout some Christmas pancakes?”

Sam watches his brother go, and his stomach quietly growls in agreement. When Dean’s done cooking, he’ll bring the pancakes to Sam, like he always does, and they’ll eat in front of their little Christmas tree. Till then, Sam’s going to get a head start on his reading.

He runs his fingers over the cover almost reverently before opening it up. He’s only about halfway through the preface and it’s already so amazing in its depth of knowledge. This might be the best present Sam’s received in a long time if not his entire life. He so pleased with his tome that he can’t help but think Dean might be the best gift giver ever, but then his eyes catch sight of that white box amidst the shiny penguin paper and, remembering what’s in there, quickly rescinds that thought.    

Sam returns to reading, but the words that had so enraptured him a moment ago have lost their magic as he finds himself rereading the same line over and over again and still not comprehending. Instead, his thoughts keep drifting to that white box. He’s not sure what it is but he just can’t help but be intrigued now that the initial shock and embarrassment and desire to throw it away is over. But not because he wants to use it, Sam tells himself; it’s probably because Dean gave it to him, and you’re not supposed to throw away a gift from family. Yeah that sounds right, right?

It’s an impulse, the way he snatches up the box and turns to hide it in his room. He’s almost out of the war room when he turns around and quickly cleans up the scraps of wrapping paper as a guise for the box being missing. Once Dean sees the table clear and trash can full of wrapping paper, he’ll probably assume Sam threw the dildo away along with it, buried on the bottom because his prudish ways couldn’t take it, and that his little Christmas prank is now in the past. He’s proven right when Dean comes back, two tall stacks of pancakes in each hand, and doesn’t even mention anything about dildos.

* * *

It takes three pancakes and a couple hours of the Christmas dildo constantly invading his thoughts for Sam to admit that the reason he’s so fixated is because yeah, he probably wants to use it. He’s not sure if being around something phallic shaped meant to be used for his pleasure has somehow awakened some sort of latent homosexuality, or simply dug up some long forgotten memory of his time at Stanford where because he was alone for the first time and free to explore who he is as a sexual being and try out different masturbation techniques, casually considered penetration after his freshman roommate waxed poetic about anal orgasms on a near nightly basis. Whatever it is, Sam’s determined to try it out.

Despite the lack of shame over his decision, under no circumstances can Dean ever find out that Sam’s planning on using his present for its intended purpose. The teasing and the girl jokes would be relentless; he can see it now, if Dean finds out and Sam manages to die before him—probably due to embarrassment—Dean would probably have his urn inscribed with _Masturbates Like a Girl_ , and Sam would much rather not be remembered at all than be remembered for that. So, he’s going to have find out a way to sneakily accomplish his goals, but considering he and Dean are _always_ together, figuring out how and when to use his dildo without Dean around is a whole new challenge.

He spends the next day and a half doing research, trigger finger even faster now that he’s perfected the minimize-the-window-quick-because-Dean’s-looking-over-my-shoulder click. He learns about safe practices, the ins and outs of prepping, the importance of lube, and about a spot that supposedly turns everything into magic: the prostate. He’s read article after article about anal masturbation, from accredited medical journals to some porn star’s blog post, and he thinks he’s got the mechanics of it down, but that’s all in theory not in practice. But, when he was twelve he fired a gun for the first time and, with only having read and heard about proper firearm techniques and never having picked one up in his life, hit all his marks with the precision and accuracy of a seasoned pro. So, if he could do that, he surely can do this. All there’s left to do is to find a place and a time.

The shower’s probably not the smartest place to test out his dildo, especially if he’s trying to do it secretly and avoid Dean’s teasing, but to Sam it’s the most logical place. He can be naked and there’ll be first aid nearby in case something goes wrong.

Although his bedroom might seem like the better option, it’s way too risky. Sam can spend quite a while in the shower—Dean always complains he takes forever to wash his hair—but spending a lot of time in his room would be way too suspicious. Ever since they moved into the bunker, one of Dean’s favorite hangouts is his room; he could spend hours in there, but Sam, preferring to spend all his time in the library, is never in his room unless it’s to sleep. If he were to disappear for an hour or two to his room, Dean would definitely come investigate and find him shoving a silicone cock up his ass.

He can’t do it during the night after retiring to his room either. Dean typically heads to bed later than he does, and though Dean doesn’t know that he knows, he, without fail, always checks on Sam before going to sleep. Sam doesn’t want Dean to come in to check if his beloved little brother is all tucked in and snug as a bug in a rug only to find that it’s his festive dildo that’s as snug as a bug in his ass. Nor can he wait till after Dean checks, because lately Dean has been sleeping later and later and Sam doesn’t think he can stay awake that long. So, shower is his best option.

After breakfast on the third day he wakes up with the dildo burning a hole in his mind, Dean leaves Sam in the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder that he’ll be in the garage. Sam pauses, coffee cup midway to his mouth, and, in a split-second, decides that this is his chance. Dean will be busy with Baby’s monthly maintenance checkup, a worshipful act that lasts nearly as long as a First Communion, and Sam estimates he’ll have an hour to an hour and a half to sate his curiosity.

Sam waits five minutes after Dean’s gone, throws back the rest of his coffee, scalding his tongue in the process, and tears it to his room. He flings open his sock drawer and pulls the dildo out, then, on his way out, grabs lube out of his nightstand and puts it among his soaps and shampoos in his caddy before making his way to the shower room.

The shower room is filled with at least a dozen stalls, and Sam thinks it looks more like a giant restroom than any shower area he’s ever seen. It’s actually one of the bunker’s weak points when it comes to design. The two rooms look so similar that when they first moved in, Dean, unable to remember which room was which, grossly admitted, “Got tired of continuously ending up in the wrong room. Not like it matters; it all drains to the same place.” If only the walls of each stall were as tall as the ceiling instead of the length from the base of his neck to the middle of his shins—the Men of Letters must’ve been short—but he supposes the unlimited supply of hot water is more than enough to make up for the fact that they look like toilet stalls.

He quickly undresses, closes the shower stall door behind him, and with a little finagling, sticks the dildo to the left-hand wall of the stall. He’s always been a the hotter the shower the better kind of guy, so he turns the faucet almost all the way to the left and pours some body wash into his palm. He takes his time washing up, slowly lathering his body while he works up the nerve to start his experiment. After going over every inch of his body nearly twice, he finally reaches a hand back between his cheeks. He suds up the crease, paying extra close attention to the area around his hole, and scrubs until he’s practically squeaky clean down there. With his thumb, he applies the slightest pressure against his hole, testing the give, and just the barest sliver of his finger slips in. His thumb circles round, slowly massaging his rim, and it’s nice, but it’s not anything to write home about.

He extracts his thumb and begins to rinse off, mind wandering as the hot water sluices the soap off his body. If just the slightest brush over his hole had been good, surely full on penetration has to feel good too. No longer able to put it off, he grabs the lube, squirts a liberal amount onto his fingers, bends over with an arm braced against the shower wall, and fits a hand between his legs. With his index finger, he smears some lube around his hole and then tentatively pushes it in until he’s knuckle deep.

This time it feels… weird. Kind of like taking a dump but in reverse. And that’s an image Sam never wants to think about again, but it’s the only way he can describe this foreign feeling. It doesn’t really hurt; it’s just kind of awkward and uncomfortable in its oddness. But he soldiers on, knows that it takes some getting used to at first, so he wiggles his finger a bit and pulls it in and out a couple times until he thinks he can manage a second finger.   

He re-lubes and pushes in with two fingers this time. Or he tries to at least; he gets maybe half his fingers in before they just can’t go anymore, the ever increasing stretch of it all scaring him off. He whimpers, not sure what to do now. Two fingers hadn’t seemed like much, but in actuality, God, do they seem big. Looking over his shoulder to where the sparkly red and silver monstrosity is imposingly hanging, there’s just no possible way he can fit that in him. He also throws a glance to where his cock is hanging between his legs and sees that the initial semi-erection that he’d been sporting due to anticipation has started to flag.

He’s tempted to draw his fingers out and call the whole thing off, but Sam Winchester is no quitter he reminds himself, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. Slowly, the fingers somehow make it all the way in, and though still uncomfortable, it’s not that bad, maybe even a bit pleasurable. He tries out different techniques he had read about, curling his fingers and scissoring them wide. He even tries to search for his prostate, but that turns out to be a wild goose chase.      

Eventually, his fingers are smoothly working in and out of him, his hole accepting them with ease. He’s panting now, arousal stirring in his loins once again, and if he’s gonna use the dildo, he figures now would be the time. He pulls his fingers free, a whine escaping at the unexpected feeling of being left so open, so loose, so empty, and dribbles some lube over the dildo before putting the bottle back in his caddy.

Sam fists the dildo, spreading the lube all over, and then turns around to line it up with his hole. He tests the tip of the dildo against his rim, and although he just had two fingers buried in his ass and stretched it open, this seems impossible, doubt creeping in all over again. It already feels wider than all his finger put together, and Sam’s just not sure if he can take it.

But he’s already made it this far so there’s no point in backing down now. He pushes back a little until he takes about an inch in before he stops. Closing his eyes, he tries to relax his muscles by focusing on the sensation of his ass stretching wide, taking in the dildo to get that nice full feeling that his fingers had given him. He’s so in the zone that he doesn’t hear the door to the shower room open over the water hitting the tiles. His concentration is only broken when he hears the squeaking of the dials and the initial gush of water like the shower to the right of his just turned on. Confused, he opens his eyes, and what he sees makes them nearly bug out of his head.

“Dean?!”

“‘Sup Sammy.”

“I thought you were working on the Impala,” Sam splutters, cupping his erection with both hands in an attempt to hide it and pressing his legs together to try and use his body to block any view of the dildo Dean might have.

“Did a quick checkup. She’s gonna need a new fuel filter soon, so I’m gonna head into town and pick up some parts. But first, gotta wash off my baby’s grease,” Dean explains, hand reaching beneath the stall divider to grab the body wash on Sam’s side. His hand passes over the lube, and Sam sucks in a breath, so worried he’s about to be found out, but luckily, Dean’s only aware of soap and shampoo and thinks any other bottle is just some ‘unnecessary froufrou product.’

“Dude, a little privacy. There’s like a dozen other showers in here. Why are you next to mine?”  

“Calm down. What? You masturbating or something? Plus, this stall’s my favorite. Water pressures the strongest.”

Feeling halfway caught, Sam turns red in answer. He hopes that the near boiling water he has going will make Dean think that’s the reason for his sudden tomato-like appearance and that it hopefully created some steam to obscure his form. But no such luck.

“Oh my god, dude, you are, aren’t you?” Dean peeks over the stall divider.

Sam flinches back, inadvertently pushing himself further back onto the dildo. He bites his lip to hold back the pained yelp that threatens to escape, knowing full well that Dean would think he’s hurt and belligerently insist he check Sam over.  

If Sam can just wait it out a few more minutes, Dean, usually a quick showerer, should be done and out of the room shortly, leaving Sam to deal with his mortal embarrassment alone. Dean tilts his face into the spray, and when he reemerges, he looks like he’s had some great epiphany; Sam knows that this can’t be any good.

“You know what we haven’t done since we were kids? A little brotherly bonding JO session. What do you say, Sammy? Wanna rub one out together like old times? Might make you less self conscious.” Dean asks brightly, jumping eagerly to lean on the wall separating them.

Dean abruptly turning to face him startles him once again, and he jerks backwards until his back hits the wall and the dildo becomes fully sheathed in his hole. The sudden fullness is overwhelming, and Sam can’t help but gasp. Dean takes it as a yes.

“Alright, Sammy!” Dean commends. He steps back into the water with a contemplative expression. “So, how about a little inspiration?”

Sam shakes his head, not in answer to Dean’s question, but in his inability to believe how this whole situation is turning out. They’ve only done this three times, sometime close to when Sam was first learning how to use his dick, and it’s kind of ironic that Dean would be here when he’s trying to learn a new form of masturbation.

“No? Didn’t think you did. It’s been a while, huh? Alright, let’s see what I got.” Dean faces forwards, trying to think of the perfect jerk off material. “Oh, I hooked up with this girl a couple weeks ago. Should’ve seen her. Just your type. She was a sweet thing, had long brown hair, long legs on top of fuck-me heels, an ass that ate her shorts when she leaned over, and a top that pushed her chest right in my face. Fuck, she was gorgeous.”

Sam sees Dean’s hands move south, and the muscles in his arm flex in a way that tells Sam he’s fondling his cock.

“Went back to her place, and I swear before we even got through the front door, she dropped to her knees. Wanted me to fuck her throat, so I grabbed her hair and just shoved my way into her mouth. She moaned so prettily for it.”

A spike of pleasure strikes low in Sam’s gut, mouth salivating a bit. He hadn’t expected any enjoyment to come from this, but the image of Dean’s hand wrapped in brown hair, cock pushing past plump lips over and over again just did something to him.

“She was good too; almost came in her mouth, but she pulled off just in time and got undressed. And to think, I thought she looked hot with clothes on.” Dean recounts, shaking his head like he can’t believe how naive he was. “Just one look at her naked and she probably could’ve made a devout monk come. And then she laid down and spread her legs so wide, showed me her pussy so shamelessly that the only thing I could do was go over there and fuck her.”

Dean’s arm is moving more vigorously now, and Sam can’t help the way his hips begin to minutely circle the dildo. Little shockwaves of pleasure radiate from his ass and rocket throughout his body. His erection starts to strain against his hands as if asking to be touched too.

“Fuck, was she wet. And tight! Oh, and her tits. Best tits I’ve seen in awhile. The way they bounced and clapped when I fucked her.” Dean’s breathing has picked up, and little appreciative groans slip out between words. He laughs, a wistful huff. “She was a screamer, such a loud girl. Thought we’d wake the entire neighborhood, especially when she came. Thought I was gonna get stuck, the way she got so tight around me.”

Sam’s moving freely now, short, little jerks up and down a couple inches of the dildo. It’s so different from anything he’s ever felt before, being touched in places that have never been touched before, places he didn’t know could feel so good. It’s intense in a way that he can only describe as euphoric, and he can’t help but whimper every time he slides all the way down. He’s glad Dean’s following the unspoken rule of jerking off together, no looking at the other person, because this way Dean won’t be able to tell that he’s not getting off in the traditional sense. But for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off Dean, can’t help but watch the way his arm moves and imagine the way he’s handling his dick.

“God, she was insatiable, as soon as she finished coming she rolled over onto all fours and begged me to keep fucking her. And let me tell you, this position was even better. Could grab onto her ass and watch it jiggle.”

This whole time he thought Dean was more a boobs guy. Growing up, every time Dean came home from a hookup, he’d, much to Sam’s annoyance, recount the whole thing, giving special attention to the way the poor girl’s chest looked like. But the way he’s talking about this girl’s butt has Sam reconsidering; maybe his tastes have refined with age.

“She was freaky too. If I would’ve had the time, I would’ve fucked her ass; she kept asking me to stick a finger in as I pounded her from behind.”

The image of Dean fingering an ass, fucking it as he holds on to perky, round cheeks is suddenly all he can think about. His hips pick up speed, and he arches his back forwards in an attempt to not slam back on the wall so hard. The change in angle sends a shock through his system, and a moan involuntarily falls from his lips, sounding so loud with the way it bounces off the tiled walls. He hears Dean’s amused chuckle, but he can't be bothered to be embarrassed as he rolls his hips, trying to recreate whatever amazing sensation it was that he just felt. The same shock of pleasure he felt before runs through him, and he can’t help but grind into it. His dick’s leaking into his hands profusely now, and he’s sure that he’s found it. He’s found his prostate.

Dean’s stopped talking now. Instead, he’s panting and grunting; he’s looking down at himself, and Sam can hear his hand moving through the water, the furious rub of skin on skin. It all cumulates in Dean groaning, bitten back behind his teeth. Sam watches, still working that sweet spot deep inside him, as Dean squeezes his eyes shut, as his body shudders, and as the speed of his arm rockets up to top speed before stuttering to a stop.

After a few minutes with nothing but ragged breathing coming from both of them, Dean slowly opens his eyes and a lazy grin spreads over his features. He turns his head towards him, and Sam automatically stills. Sam sees the way Dean’s eyes track down to where his hands are doing a really crappy job trying to contain his erection and frowns.

“Didn’t finish, Sammy? You were making all sorts of happy noises,” Dean asks, rinsing of one more time before shutting off the water. “Alright, you take your time. I’m gonna go to town. Text me if you need anything.”

As soon as Dean’s out the door of the shower room, Sam draws his hips up until just the tip is left buried in his hole and slams back down so hard the stall wall shakes. Without Dean there, he keeps up the rough pace, moaning openly and so loud he’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that Dean’s room is on the other side of the bunker. He replays the sound Dean made when he came over and over in his head, the images from Dean’s words play on a continuous loop in his mind, and all that combined with the assault he’s putting on his prostate has him whiting out, screaming as his cum splatters onto the floor in forceful spurts. He can’t stop moving his hips, wanting this pleasure to last forever, but as the last strands of orgasm ebbs away, he stills and lets his hole quiver around the dildo as he rides out the aftershocks.

It takes him a few minutes to come down from the high of what might be the strongest orgasm he’s ever had, but his quickly cooling body is just begging him to step back into the spray of warm water. With trembling legs, Sam gently pulls off the dildo and slowly sinks to his knees, letting the water cascade over his back.

Huh, so that’s what he’s been missing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! Sorry this is late.

To say Sam’s obsessed would be a complete and utter understatement as there really isn’t any way to describe his ongoing fixation with his Christmas dildo. He thought that if he had just scratched that itch, finally gave in to the siren call of it, the whole thing would be out of his system. 

But one amazing orgasm later and here he is, still obsessing over it, unable to go five minutes without thinking about it. Awake, he can’t help but fantasize over the memory of how it felt to be filled up over and over again, crave the intoxicating way the pleasure bubbled up from deep within, and yearn to do it all over again to make sure his immense enjoyment wasn’t just some one-time fluke. Even in his sleep, his dreams are plagued with it, making him wake up to sticky underpants and sweat soaked-sheets; something he hasn’t done since he was a horny fourteen year old whose dick just developed a mind of its own.  

His obsession eventually has him trying it out it two more times: the next night, again in the shower, this time in a stall far away from Dean’s proclaimed favorite, when he knows Dean won’t interrupt, too preoccupied with some Hanukkah horror movie on Shocker; and a quick session again on the next day, when Dean had been out for half an hour on a supply run, this time on his back, manually working the dildo in and out of him with one hand and pulling on his cock with the other. 

Both times had resulted in more mind-blowing orgasms. And yet, something’s off; they’re not as great as that first night. But Sam just chalks it up to the wonders and freshness of a first time. Plus, these orgasms put most of his previous ones to shame, so there’s no point in giving it up over a couple of marginally imperfect finishes. If anything, he’s giving up masturbating any way that doesn’t involve his dildo. 

* * *

They take on a hunt, a haunting that takes place on New Year’s Eve by a ghost of a girl who was killed by a drunk driver. It’s an easy, no-frills salt and burn, the most difficult part being how time-sensitive it is, and it ends up taking them less time to complete than it does to actually drive to their destination. They manage to finish hours before the end of the year, leaving them plenty of time to celebrate the holiday. 

Not that they usually do New Year’s. Usually one disastrous year bleeds into the next, and the hope for a clean start is so unimaginable that there really isn’t any point in differentiating or commemorating a new year. But like the Christmas they just shared, they might just start. Or at least Dean will. 

Dean’s getting ready to head to the bar they were at just hours ago interviewing witnesses. Some girls who had definitely been eyeing him with interest invited him to come back to the bar to celebrate with them, and Dean, of course, agreed before they could even finish their invitation. 

“All yours,” Dean says as he flings the bathroom door open. He’s fresh out of the shower, no longer covered in sweat and grave dirt like Sam still is. He grabs his boots and sits down at the table across from Sam. After each boot has been properly fastened, he straightens up and immediately looks confused when his eyes land on Sam like he doesn’t understand why he’s still in front of him. 

“Dude, what are you doing? Hurry up; we got to get going soon. And no girl is gonna wanna talk to you if you smell like you just ran a hundred miles through a mud pit.”

“Yeah… I’m not going.”

Sam’s just not interested. The thought of spending New Year’s Eve in a bar full of drunk strangers is just not appealing. Seeing everyone happily celebrating around him as he sits in the corner by himself, Dean already having left him for his choice of bed partner, all just sounds really sad and in now way a way he'd want to spend his evening. And no matter how much Dean tried to set him up, none of the girls were really interested in him—not that he’s much more interested in having some one night stand himself. He’d rather sit alone in this motel room with some rerun of bad TV as his companion.

“What? Come on, Sam. There’s gonna be hot babes who’re looking for someone to smooch when the ball drops.”

Sam nods, still not convinced. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people there who’ll be willing to kiss them.”

“Alright,” Dean pouts concedingly, tossing on his jacket. Sam tries not to smile when he sees it’s the leather one he had gotten him for Christmas. Just like Sam with Dean’s presents, Dean also seems to have taken a shine to the jacket. He’s worn it everyday since Christmas, even back at the bunker with the heater on full blast. A small part of Sam’s happy that Dean’s wearing it so often, like he’s taking a piece of him everywhere he goes. 

Dean stops on his way to the door. “You sure you’ll be ok? Here by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Dean still hesitates, hand stopping midway on its reach to his keys. “I don’t have to go.”

“Go, Dean,” Sam encourages, grabbing the keys and tossing it to him.

Dean catches them and trudges to the door, throwing one last wavering glance at Sam before closing the door behind him. Sam waits until he hears the rumble of the Impala drive away before shaking his head fondly. 

Sam messes around on his laptop for a while, reading news reports, watching a couple dog video, and looking at pictures of the firework displays around the world, until the layer of grime over his body becomes too uncomfortable and forces him to take a shower. When he’s finally clean, Sam digs through his bags looking for a fresh pair of clothes and in the middle of his search, happens upon the dildo.

He hadn’t meant to bring it, had no plans on using it, especially not when Dean’s at most an arm’s length away. It was just some thoughtless impulse, a crazy whim brought upon by the unending arousal he’s been having, that had him flinging it into his bag as he packed. Sam runs a finger over it, feeling the velvety soft, smooth texture of it, and a shiver runs through his spine, reigniting the smoldering excitement sitting just beneath the surface. 

But he quickly pulls his hand away and dresses, refusing to give in. He’s in no way getting off via dildo in a space he shares with Dean, not again. He looks for a quick distraction and turns on the TV, eventually settling on the New Year’s Eve countdown special. A couple performances hold his attention, but after a while, it gets a little boring, and Sam finds himself staring at the clock. 

There’s still forty-five minutes till midnight, and Sam’s not sure it’s worth waiting for. He makes to get ready for bed, but on his way to the bathroom his bag catches his eye. He rechecks the clock; forty-five minutes till midnight, and if Dean’s planning on hooking up with one of those girls, he’ll probably be gone for an additional two hours. Plenty of time to use the dildo without having to worry about Dean coming back and catching him in the act. The slowly building arousal turns off portions of his brain, the reasonable and fear inducing portions, and turns his initial reluctance into a yes. He glances at the door, and without taking his eyes off it, slowly unzips his bag and retrieves his prize. 

Dildo and lube in hand, he quickly undresses and jumps onto his bed. He suctions the festive sex toy onto the slowly crumbling wall where a headboard should be—damn cheap motel—and hastily slicks himself up. His ass is still a little loose from fucking himself three days in a row but still not nearly as open as it should be to comfortably take in the entire thing.

Sam works himself up to three fingers in no time and switches them out for the toy when the need for more arises. He lets out a happy sigh once the entire thing is inside him and languidly rolls his hips, just letting the sensations wash over him. All of his surroundings are rendered down to nothing as rivulets of pleasure echo through him, concentrating deep within his ass before radiating outwards to make his fingers and toes curl, and just like last time, he’s so enthralled with it all that he doesn’t hear the door opening. 

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you were—Wait, you’re alone.  _ And _ you’re using the dildo?!”

“Dean,” Sam squeaks. He winces as he quickly pulls off the toy and drags the blanket over to cover himself. He hunches over, trying to shrink down like if he looks small enough Dean might not see him, and yet trying to remain tall enough in an attempt to hide the dildo behind him. He quickly glances at the clock over Dean’s shoulder. It’s not even been twenty minutes. “Wh-what are you doing back already?”

“Party was kind of lame. There wasn’t anyone who knew how to play a decent game of pool without you there,” Dean explains as he kicks off his boots. Like he forgot the state Sam’s currently in, he carries on bemoaning about the exorbitant prices for a beer and how the girls got sloppy drunk and weren’t fun to hang out with anymore. He stops mid-sentence, jacket halfway down his arms, and turns to Sam again. “Are you really using that?”

Sam reels back, uncomfortable that all the attention is on him again. “I, um, wha—You can’t just ask—”  

“Can I watch?” Dean freezes, face suddenly flaming red. His mouth drops in shock and there’s horror in his eyes like he can’t believe what just came out of his mouth. 

Sam freezes as well, finally looking up at Dean with wild, disbelieving eyes. “What? No, you can’t watch. Why would you even want to?” He ignores the way his open hole clenches at Dean’s request, ignores the heat  that had slowly started growing in his gut as soon as Dean had made himself known.

Dean fidgets like his body is trying to set him into motion and away from this awkward situation. “I-I was just curious. You know, wanted to see if you, uh, liked my present. You know what? Never mind. If you don’t want me to, I’ll just go,” he says putting the leather jacket back on.

“Dean, wait.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say that—maybe because his brain is so sex-addled—but disappointment had settled in when Dean had bent down to pick up his boot, an act that proved he was truly preparing to leave, and the words just spilled forth like verbal diarrhea. It really doesn’t make sense because just a minute ago he was mortified and wishing for Dean to just disappear, but for some reason, now he doesn’t really want Dean to leave again. Reckoning the best way to get him to stay, he says, “Dean, you can.”

“I can what?” 

Sam doesn’t answer, a little too embarrassed. 

“You need to say it, Sam.”

“You can watch.” Sam admits quietly, lowering his gaze.

Dean must sense his reluctance because he doesn’t bother taking off his jacket before gingerly sitting at the end of the bed. 

Pretty sure he’s gone completely mad, Sam slowly unravels himself from the blanket and scoots backwards until the slick tip of the dildo pokes the back of his thigh. He reaches behind and guides the fake cock back into his hole, biting his lip as that wondrous full feeling returns. And this should be weird, so very weird, but Sam doesn’t remember ever being this horny. Slowly he starts to rock, his face grows hot, and his eyes are locked onto the ugly patterned sheets below, still too afraid to look at Dean.

Besides the slow creaking of bed springs, his labored breathing, and the occasional squelching sound, the room’s utterly quiet and still, causing Dean’s sudden groan to echo off the walls. Sam’s head snaps up at the sound, and the sight he sees make his dick twitch. There’s a flush high up on Dean’s cheeks, his eyes hooded and dark, and there’s a huge bulge tenting his jeans.  

“Dean,” Sam gasps, and like a spell, it breaks the stillness. His hips pick up speed, causing the bed to squeak incessantly, and Dean walks on his knees closer until he’s right in front of Sam’s face. Dean doesn’t lay a finger on him, but he has his hands raised as if he might.   

“Sammy, Sammy, let me touch, please.”

Sam nods, too busy moaning to form words. Dean shifts to the side, his hips now parallel to Sam’s shoulder and his clothed erection lightly brushing against his clavicle, and reaches over his body to spread his cheeks. Loving the way his hole being pulled open feels, Sam buries his face into Dean’s side, skin rubbing against the smooth leather, to let out an extra loud moan. Sam inhales, trying to refill his lungs, and gets a whiff of Dean, the earthiness of his body wash mixing perfectly with a smoky smell like that of a recently fired gun. Through the haze of arousal, Sam can’t help but be pleased to note that the jacket already smells like Dean.

Dean reaches into the crevice of his ass, and his middle and index finger straddle where he’s being split in half, feeling the way his rim flexes as the dildo pushes and pulls its way in and out. The feeling of Dean’s hand there feels absolutely spine-meltingly good and has him craving another drag of Dean’s intoxicating scent. He brings his face closer to Dean’s stomach in search of where the smell’s strongest before moving downwards towards Dean’s crotch. Dean’s so hard his erection is straining at the zipper of his jeans, threatening to poke Sam’s eye out. Sam blinks muzzily at it after his lips bump against it and without even thinking about it, drops his head lower to nuzzle and mouth at Dean’s dick

Dean stills before pulling back a little to look Sam in the eyes. He gently cups his jaw as he asks, “You want a cock in your mouth too, Sammy?” 

An eager sound makes its way out of Sam’s throat, and he opens his mouth wide for Dean. Dean swears and hurries to undo his jeans. He hooks the waistband of his shorts underneath his balls, letting his cock jut forward proudly. It’s big, girthy in a way Sam isn’t, and there’s already a clear pool of precum welling at the tip; it’s all just begging Sam to hurry and wrap his lips around it. 

Sam lets Dean guide it into his mouth, tracing the shape of lips with the head and smearing around his essence before slipping in. He doesn’t put it all in—Sam doesn’t even think he’s taken in half—but regardless, Sam’s decided he already loves sucking on dick. Loves the heat that fills up his mouth, loves the hardness and the heft of it on his tongue, loves the smooth, soft skin of it rubbing against the planes of his mouth, and loves the way it’s attached to Dean. However, he doesn’t really have a clue how to give a blowjob, and it honestly feels like he’s just drooling on Dean’s dick, but from the quick peek he threw up at Dean, Dean seems to be enjoying it. And just knowing that has Sam moving, sucking and licking Dean on one end and fucking himself back on the other.

“Fuck, looking so good. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean groans appreciatively.

Sam preens at the praise. He knows he probably looks ridiculous, inexperience apparent in the out of sync way he rocks his hips and bobs his head, the spit dribbling down his chin, and the occasional scrape of teeth against Dean’s length, but Dean’s words act as a motivator, making him swirl his tongue a little faster, try and swallow down a little more, and suck a little harder until his jaw gets tired and he has to pull off and let it rest. 

Dean’s hands come up to soothingly card through Sam’s hair as Sam lays soft kisses to the parts of his dick he has yet to reach. Sam had never given his hair much thought in the bedroom, but just as the last few days have been full of discovery, he really should reconsider it for the future. He’s almost purring, enjoying the way each little pass of Dean’s fingertips through his scalp lights up his nerves and magnifies the pleasure growing in his belly.

“This the first time?” Dean asks, nodding towards the dildo. 

“No. First time. In the shower. When we got off together,” Sam pants.

“Fuck, Sam. I was there and you didn’t tell me?” 

The gentle treatment Dean had been giving his hair suddenly turns rough as he yanks Sam back with one hand and the other slides down to coax his jaw open. Dean dives right in, and Sam tries to moan, but it's quickly cut off as Dean shoves in deeper than he’s was before. Dean’s taking control, and Sam never thought he’d enjoy someone using his mouth so forcefully, but he knows Dean would never hurt him; he’s holding back, hips and thighs straining with the effort not to fuck forwards, slowing down and backing off when Sam starts to gag and his eyes start watering. He just wants to please Dean, so he let’s Dean do as he wants.

Eventually Dean’s hips stop moving, hold on Sam relaxing; Sam looks up at him, question on his face. “Pull off, Sam. ‘Bout to come.” But Sam doesn’t let up, doesn’t want to let up. Instead, he seals his lips even tighter around Dean’s cock and sucks harshly. Dean groans, weakly tugging on his hair to get him to let up, and the next thing Sam knows, spurt after spurt of Dean’s cum floods his mouth. It’s a little startling and a little much, so he abruptly pulls off, coughing, and the rest of Dean’s orgasm hits him on the chin. 

As soon as he’s done choking on cum, Dean hauls him up to a kneeling position and licks up what's on his face. He gathers it all up and pushes it into Sam’s open mouth. Cum, as it turns out, isn’t a taste Sam’s really fond of, but when combined with Dean’s mouth, he really doesn’t mind. Dean kisses him slowly and sensually as Sam swallows what’s in his mouth, then kisses down his jaw and onto his neck, and God, has Sam ever had sex that felt this good? 

Dean pulls away, and Sam whimpers at the loss of his mouth, but Dean quickly cuts him off with a soft peck on the lips before looking him in the eye and asking, “Can you come like this? Without touching yourself?”

Sam nods, and Dean breathlessly demands, “Show me.”

Sam starts moving his hips back, letting Dean’s grip on his elbows hold him up. His fingers dig into Dean’s biceps as this new position presses right into his prostate and has him shaking on his knees. He hides his face in Dean’s shoulder as the sound of skin smacking against the wall and Dean’s cooing drives his arousal upwards. His mouth hangs open, letting all sorts of sounds spill forth, unable to hold any back with how overwhelming all the sensations are. His tongue darts out, trying to swipe at the bit of drool tickling the corner of his mouth, and it catches upon Dean’s jacket; the tang of it perfectly compliments the taste of Dean lingering on his taste buds. 

There’s some commotion going on on the television, and Sam’s mind distantly recognizes it as the beginning of the New Year’s countdown, but he doesn’t care, too busy listening to Dean whispering in his ear, “Come, Sammy. Come. Let me see. God, I really want to see.” 

Sam wails, urgently grinding back on the dildo. The people on the TV shout  _ 10! _ right as Dean tells him  _ Now! _ and Sam’s loses it, clinging onto Dean as orgasm wracks his body.

There’s no doubt about it, this is the most intense orgasm he’s ever had—the first time in the shower nothing but a blip compared to this. It so good he loses time, flies off the plane of reality and rides the waves of pleasure for hours, but when his mind finally returns to his body and he opens his eyes, the countdown reaches zero and the ball has been dropped. 

“Happy New Year, little brother.” Dean kisses the crown of his head. 

“Happy New Year, Dean,” Sam replies sluggishly. 

Dean gathers Sam up and gently lays him on the bed, his head resting next to Dean’s thigh. "Auld Lang Syne" and the sounds of people ringing in the New Year fills the room as Sam recovers. Dean’s quiet, staring at the TV with a little too much concentration, and when Sam’s brain can finally think normally again, the awkwardness starts to settle in.

“So, I’m thinking we make this a new Christmas tradition.” 

“What?” Sam lifts his head and laughs out of bewilderment, but more out of relief that Dean’s talking to him, not regretting what just happened between them. 

“Yeah, since you seem to like this so much, I’m thinking a new sex toy every year.” 

Sam doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he just stares at Dean until they both break down laughing.

“Can you believe that you just got spit-roasted by me and the Christmas Spirit?”

“What?” Sam asks. Dean must’ve actually come his brains out, he’s making no sense.

“Yeah that’s,” he says pointing to the dildo, “called the Christmas Spirit.”

The names fitting, but utterly ridiculous. Dean seems to really think so; giggles unable to be held back no matter how hard he tries. 

“Or, or, or we can call it Santa Claus, cause it’s going down your chimney.” Big peals of laughter burst out of Dean.

“Stop it.” Sam smiles, but Dean’s not ready to stop, joke after joke coming out of his big mouth.

“I guess you could say you’ve been getting your stocking stuffed.”

“Looks like we found out what happened to Frosty’s original nose.”

Sam lets Dean get in one more bad innuendo before he decides Dean’s had enough fun. “Wow, am I glad you got me a dildo, so I don’t have to deal with you and your lame ass jokes any more.” 

“Please, dildos are great, but I'm better.” 

“”Well, I guess we’ll have to wait till next year when you tie your dick up with a bow and give it to me for Christmas to find out.” Sam says a little hesitantly, not completely sure if this was a one time thing, or if Dean’s really wanting to start something with him.

However, Dean’s hungry grin and the way he gives Sam’s body a once over is more than enough to reassure Sam.

“Oh, Sammy you don’t have to wait that long cause I’ll make everyday Christmas, and you’ll enjoy your present each and every time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays Everybody!


End file.
